Cannes Film Festival

So, I'm back in my room at the Hôtel du Cap and, no, I did not manage to lay claim to one of the Eden Roc suites as I'd intended. I'm in the main building and, if I'm being totally honest, this isn't even a suite but a room most likely kept for the night custodian should he feel a need to catch forty winks, which is about what I'll get tonight from the look of things. And by the way, this is the last time I fly down on you-know-whose airplane. If I hear one more anecdote about working in a video store...

I fully intended to attend the screening of Inglourious Basterds, which figures to be the best or worst picture of the year depending on whether or not you think Kill Bill 2 was actually a compilation of deleted scenes from Kill Bill. I intended attending right up to the moment I traded my invitation, hall pass and tote bag for the keys to somebody's Maserati Quattroporte S and took off for the casino in Monaco in time to lose what cash I had on hand and then have dinner at the top of the Hôtel de Paris with a woman who looked like someone I didn't know. This fortunate pairing came about as a sudden, improvised solution to catching a glimpse of Désespérée emerging from a private room used by the casino security staff to search and contain belligerent guests and Third World tyrants who have been named in an indictment.

It all turned out for the best. After dinner, I managed a (junior) suite overlooking the harbor entrance into which the lady and I disappeared until long after check-out time. I feel a little guilty at having flown down only to miss the reason for my coming in the first place, however I will eventually see the film on DVD and, from what I hear, even those who attended the screening don't yet know if it's the best or worst film of the year.

Facebook

Recently, though not a joiner, I was seduced by peer pressure, media manipulation and covert nighttime chemical spraying on the part of the government to register on Facebook. Like being a little bit pregnant, I am now a little bit a part of things there.

One of my first participatory actions was to respond to a questionnaire that was circulating asking everyone to list twenty-five things that people might not know about you. Had it asked me to sit around the campfire and sing folk songs, I would have refused categorically. However, this seemed a painless exercise and I duly listed twenty-five absolutely fascinating things about myself guaranteed to impress even those to whom I owe large sums of money. It succeeded beyond all expectation and made new Facebook friends for me whom I will likely never meet, but that's hardly the point, is it?

Now, some weeks later, someone forwarded to me their list of twenty-five which, as it happened, had my own list in the thread. Reading it again impressed upon me how self-serving these lists can be. Although everything I listed was true--and no doubt extraordinary in every possible way--it really should have been called "Twenty-five things you want everybody to know about you". In other words, there's a reason people don't know certain things about you for their own good as well as yours.

Just to test this, I'll be circulating a questionnaire that will ask everyone to create and post a list of twenty-five things you hope to Hell no one ever finds out about you. Let's see if we get any takers.

[famous name deleted]

I spoke to [famous name deleted] on the phone today about his film project as a branded TV series using [proprietary information deleted] to provide the book-ending à la Rod Serling on Twilight Zone. He is quite excited about the idea and is going to call his writing partner to convey his enthusiasm about the proposition, which will, no doubt, kill the deal.

Anyone in Hollywood knows that when someone approaches expressing enthusiasm, they are up to no good (we are), that they intend to use your project for their own aggrandizement (we do) and, invariably, will steal away your baby and leave nothing at all for you (undoubtedly, we will). I will continue to monitor the situation.

I'm going to watch one of The Killers on DVD but haven't decided yet if it will be the Burt Lancaster or John Cassavetes version.

Berlusconi mariage: "Une histoire finie"

According to my copy of Le Figaro today, Berlusconi has conceded defeat with regard to his marriage to Veronica Lario, which comes as no surprise to me inasmuch as the man utterly ignored my "What would Brad Pitt do?" advice and played it like an average Joe to ruinous results (depending on one's point of view). Berlusconi is quoted as saying that his marriage is, "...fini ou sur le point de finir" (though I suspect he actually said it in Italian).

Does this mean that the jolies filles, as described by Ms Lario in her denunciations, will now lose interest in the statesman or might their numbers swell, their natures becoming increasingly competitive in vying to become the new First Lady of Italy? I can only go by personal experience, but it must be said that I play by strict Hollywood rules and would advise Signor Berlusconi to double the size of his carnet d'adresses as quickly as he is able to do so--that is, if he doesn't continue to play the scene as average Joe (not to be mistaken for Joe the Plumber).

As one door closes, another slams open in your face and Berlusconi can expect that Veronica will accuse him of stealing her car (if personal experience is anything to go by) and that the rest of the world will be asking "Silvio, what took so long?"

It is nice to know that, even though the moguls of yesteryear are gone from the landscape, Hollywood still has all the answers. I would caution both parties to the marriage, however, that television in not Hollywood and that reality television is to be avoided at all costs even if the price to pay is reuniting.